The splatter on the photo made the colors richer, and I could see the custom paint down the side panel, paint that only just wrapped around the brake light to the edge of the tailgate.
It was either burnt orange or a deep red.
The word Ford stretched all the way across the tailgate in flat black letters.
“Son. Of. A. Bitch.”
I rolled the bottle around and saw something that nearly had me in tears.
My building’s garage had a teal-colored metal barrier—an architectural thing meant to function as a safety barrier to keep cars from running over the sidewalk. The barrier ran in front of the truck, between Lily on the sidewalk and where the truck was parked.
The barrier was made of long steel railings set on the horizontal that ran between larger vertical posts maybe ten feet apart.
Through two of the railings, I could see a license plate number.
I couldn’t read it. It was too small, and a couple of the digits were obscured by one of the posts.
But it was there.
It was right fucking there.
Whoever owned that truck owned the mill.
And we had a partial license plate.
Setting the picture aside, I smiled to myself. Finally. I decided to kill two birds with one stone and pulled up my contacts list.
“Dallas Bulldogs Public Relations Office.”
“Hi, can I speak to Mariana Lopez, please?”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Brody Shaw.”
There was a pregnant pause on the other end. “One moment. I’ll see if she’s still here.”
“Brody?” Mariana sounded out of breath. “What can I do for you?”
It was time I got some answers about what my shoulder had to do with Lily.
Hopefully, Mariana would take pity on me, and just maybe...do me a solid?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Can’t Fight This Feeling
Brody
The windshield wipers flicked back and forth, the dog snored in the back seat, and REO Speedwagon played soft in the background. Most of my belongings were getting drenched in the bed of the truck as I jotted a note next to another name on my legal pad and ignored most traffic laws.
It had taken me only two hours to draw up my playbook, and I was executing as I drove. My brain buzzed with all the things I needed to do, all the pieces that needed to come together for everything to work.
I had only one goal.
To give my girl the world and hope she didn’t throw it in my face.
But some of the biggest risks in life, like love...they had to be taken with a leap of faith.
My lawyer told me that.
I pushed the phone button on the steering wheel. It was going to be a long night, I had more calls to make, and only one person on my mind.
“Hey, man. It’s Brody Shaw. Sorry to wake you, but...”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Well, that was entertaining, but now what?
Lily
“You’ve got a small tear in the lateral ankle ligaments.” Hitting a button on the portable ultrasound keyboard, I re-angled the transducer I held to Shaun Jackson’s ankle. “Right here. See?” I pointed to the screen.
He leaned forward. “So, a grade one sprain?” The running back had a medical background. He’d been in a PT program at Michigan State before he was drafted.
I shook my head. “Given the swelling, I’m calling it grade two. I’d rather be safe than sorry.” Pulling the transducer away, I wiped it off with a paper towel before also using it to clean the jelly off his skin. “I’ll tape it instead of giving you a brace as long as you take it easy. I catch you overusing it, I’ll slap a brace on it. Walk-throughs only for three days. Ice, ten to fifteen minutes as often as you can. No heat. I want to see you again in two days.” I met his eyes to let him know I meant business.
He nodded. “Thanks, Lil. It’s nice to have staff that actually cares about our bodies. Billy Costello was your dad, right? Is that why you got into this?”
I started pulling out supplies. Tape, scissors. No pre-wrap. “Something like that. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
Damn, this job was demanding. Balls to the wall from 5:30 a.m. till every last player with a concern or a sore muscle had been seen for the day. On game day, sometimes, I didn’t get home until one or two in the morning.
I missed Jet and Mack. Away games were even harder on them.
I’d managed to skate on Dick for the first two away games, but he was pissed. We’d screamed at each other in the trainer’s office and half the team heard it. At least it earned me some street cred with the players and staff.
They knew I wasn’t afraid of Dick.
Of course, I never passed up a chance to scream at Dick. He thought he was going to make my life tough until I folded? Fuck him. I made his equally miserable. He’d either back off or fire me, and if he fired me, I still got the shelter. I had it in writing, and nobody out-stubborned me.
Hayes flagged me down coming out of the supply room. “Hey, Lil. I need you to come with me. It’s kind of an emergency.”
“Can’t Darius handle it? I need to tape Shaun up.” Everyone knew as the most senior trainer, Darius was the boss. I followed his lead. I also promised him I wouldn’t—under any circumstances—put the players at risk because of my stepfather. He was a decent guy, and understandably wary since he’d recently fired a guy who had done exactly that.
“Sweetheart, it has to be you.” Hayes’s look pleaded with me.
“Hayes, we’re friends, and I actually don’t mind when you call me sweetheart away from here, but try not to do it here, okay? It kind of undermines this whole badass thing I’ve got going on that has everyone afraid to piss me off.”
He gave me a little salute. “Got it.”
“Hey, Vanessa,” I yelled down the hall. She stuck her head out of the office. “Can you tape up Jackson’s ankle for me? Apparently, sugar britches here needs help elsewhere.”
She smiled. “I gotchu.” She was a good trainer. Efficient. No nonsense. They were a little scared of her, too. And Shaun had a major crush on her.
Handing off the pre-wrap, I gave her my thanks.
I followed Hayes up the hall, through the weight room, out into the corridor by the locker room. “Where are you going? This better not be some kind of STD you picked up on the road. I’m not checking out your junk. Ever. No matter how much it burns when you pee.”